


The Roots of Hawks

by Magi_Silverwolf



Series: The Light of Mankind [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Gen, Guide Powers, Multi, Psychic Bond, Secret Organizations, Sentinel Senses, Social Dynamics, Social Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 20:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12755748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magi_Silverwolf/pseuds/Magi_Silverwolf
Summary: Peggy Carter lived her life. She loved, and she lost. She still learned when to plant herself like a tree and refuse to move. Sometimes the only way out is to fly on wings of your own making.





	The Roots of Hawks

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.  
>  **Warnings** : This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.  
>  **Series Information** : This series is a Marvel Cinematic Universe & Harry Potter crossover. It is also a Sentinel & Guide fusion. Certain things have been shifted around to accommodate these two things. Things are also shifted to include information from related media for the crossed canons. As a general rule of thumb, assume my presented information is deliberate and not the result of confused mistakes, even when different from base canon.  
> The parts of this series are not designed to be read alone. References will be made to other parts, some of which may be published out of order.

**Song Recommendation(s):** “Skyscraper” by Demi Lovato; “Til My Heart Stops” by Too Far Moon

 

-= LP =-

The Roots of Hawks

-= LP =-

“In order to attain the impossible, one must attempt the absurd.” – Miguel de Cervantes

-= LP =-

 

Margaret Carter came online so slowly that no one really noticed. Michael did, of course, because he always noticed everything about her, even more than Mark ever had despite being her twin. In those days, there were not the tests there would be later to determine if a child was latent without needing to contact a Center. Guides who had been specially trained could tell, but that training was difficult and just as likely to be wrong as right. In a family that hadn’t produced a Sensitive in several generations, that kind of testing just wasn’t considered a priority until they were more at risk of coming online.

 

For latents raised in mundane households, that was typically towards the end of adolescence and into adulthood. Under typical conditions for younger latents coming online was cases of dire need, either their own or that of a close associate. Those cases almost always ended violently and required the local Sensitive community to interfere for the safety of all involved.

 

Peggy never did like to follow rules.

 

None of the Carter children were abused or neglected. None of their friends, those few they had living so far in the country, were either. Their mother was often exasperated with Peggy’s lack of refinement and her willful desire to follow Michael around like a pup, even when Michael had his fencing lessons. However, the punishment for unladylike behavior was extra chores, not anything harsh enough to trigger what happened, even with the constant threat to basic security. Looking back, there really wasn’t a reason for Peggy to come online, except inevitability of fate.

 

Because while Peggy came online slowly enough that no one noticed except the Sentinel that had also escaped notice, she bonded before anyone could stop her. Mateship bonds between family members did happen more often than people typically acknowledged. Peggy always thought that they were caught up in the romantic idealism of mateship, of perfectly matched soulmates that balance each other in all areas.

 

Maybe that was why as the thoughts and feelings of an entire parish full of people began to overwhelm a seven-year-old Peggy on an autumnal Sunday, Michael had reached over Mark to squeeze her hand. The bond snapped into place between one breath and the next. Their only response at that moment was a mutual flash of a smile.

 

They waited until after the service to create the greatest scandal of their township since the Dumbledore brothers had a fist fight at their sister’s funeral. Somerset could be rather boring at times.

 

It was only polite.

 

-= LP =-

 

Having a mateship bond already established made the process of finding a husband considerably more aggravating than it already was. Sentinels were notoriously territorial about their spouses and so far, Peggy had yet to find a single one willing to tolerate a wife who was already mated to another Sentinel. That left mundane options which had its own problems.

 

Sometimes the difference between Sensitive and mundane individuals seemed as wide as a chasm.

 

Fred was clearly uncomfortable with how much Peggy touched her brother. With Michael away so often and for so long, her instincts wanted nothing more than to wallow in the sensory experience that was her mate. She eschewed skin contact with others, however, including the man who was willing to marry her. Fred didn’t complain out loud, too polite and too well trained for such a crass pettiness.

 

He always did tend to forget that she was a Guide.

 

It should have been sweet.

 

It would have been except he replaced that with the deplorable opinion about a woman’s proper place.

 

She wanted a family of her own. She could feel the need to establish a den and fill it with a pack to take care of. There was only her, Michael, and Mark left now that their parents had passed. Mark refused to speak with them over the shame of his siblings being mated. Michael had dived into serving on the fronts, protecting the Tribe like the perfect Sentinel he was. Fred was her chance, possibly her only one.

 

It wouldn’t have been ideal, but it would have worked.

 

No amount of literature could have warned her of the agony that was a mateship bond being destroyed.

 

It was not quick either.

 

And because everything he experienced as he was dying echoed through their bond, she knew that his captors had not intended to kill him. They had wanted to create a perfect soldier. They had wanted to see if they could twist a Sentinel’s loyalties away from their chosen Tribe.

 

In the end, a Sentinel cannot be turned against his bonded mate.

 

When Peggy opened her eyes after losing the one who complemented her soul and her abilities, she didn’t care what she would need to do in the pursuit of justice. The only thing that mattered was making certain that those people were _stopped_. She set aside all her dreams of a normal life and set herself on a different path.

 

It was uphill over rocky terrain.

 

Good thing she had heels.

 

-= LP =-

 

Peggy felt him before she actually found him, and long before she actually entered the castle. It had taken a great deal of control over her shields in order to not crumble under the weight of empathic taint in the area. It was wild and vicious, like the Guide had absolutely no control and couldn’t help reacting to the emotions of everyone in the area of their range. It was not until she could see the interior of the building that she realized just how impressive the weight had to be.

 

The entire place was built with the natural fortifications to prevent empathic buildup in an area as they created null zones for Sensitives of all types. The knowledge of how exactly those types of fortifications worked wasn’t exact by any means, but they didn’t just give like the more modern technology tended to do. They only failed when damaged; they could be overwhelmed, however, which was the case here.

 

The Sentinels the SOE had foisted on her had succumbed to fugues as within three steps of entering the main building. That was both better than anticipated and _worse_. At least she didn’t have to deal with three Sentinels going BP or feral on her own, even if the empathic energy of the guide-distress was clearly designed to shut down Sentinels instead of calling them for protection. She swallowed hard against the rage that wanted pound through her at the thought of what possible harm could cause a Guide to reject the other type of Sensitive.

 

As a woman in a warzone, she was already familiar with certain types of wartime atrocities. She knew this particular trick could also be used against those type of monsters as well, with greater effect.

 

Peggy didn’t hesitate to leave the three meatheads to stew while she pressed forward into the castle.

 

This was the call of one of her own in need of assistance, in a place she recognized from those terrible days it took Michael to die. She couldn’t lose someone else to these people. She would deal with the repercussions when she had no other choice. Right now, she had bigger fish to fry.

 

Maybe she should have worn her heels instead of the boots, just for the right effect.

 

When she opened the dungeon cell to see an old man sitting on a cot, she knew her life was changing again, just as easily as bonding with nothing more than a squeeze of a hand and a glance, just as completely as walking away from the only chance she had of _normal_. His smile was hesitant and did not reach his eyes. She nodded in agreement and immediately offered her hand, palm up and protocol perfect.

 

“My name is Agent Peggy Carter. I’m with the Strategic Scientific Reserve,” she said in unaccented German. The man’s smile grew steadier and he reached for her. Empathic energy flowed between them easily through their touching palms, exchanging impressions and information in the silent way of Guides willing to ally together. A fragile pack bond sparked on either end before both Guides held it gently to solidify it. Loneliness echoed through their mutual broken bonds, tasting of the grief which no words would ever do justice.

 

She accepted the silent warning that losing a mate never gets easier to bear, not even after decades. He accepted the strength of purpose that ran through her steel core and leaned on her as they limped back to their Sentinel escort.

 

They would bear the future together, to make their pain worth it.

 

Together, they might even manage to save it and soar above all who had ever doubted them.

 

-= LP =-

 

Colonel Phillips made no secret that he was disappointed to have been sent Peggy Carter as Erskine’s backup for dealing with the Sentinel candidates for Project Rebirth. If she had been the kind of person to let what others thought of her actually stop her from doing what needed to be done, she may have felt guilty about the obvious exasperation in the colonel’s voice. Instead, all she felt was vindicated. The last two years had taught her the rarity of a man, Sentinel or mundane, who found her constant defiance of the rules versus the needs of the mission endearing rather than a reason to slam yet another door in her face.

 

Maybe he just liked seeing the stupid meatheads being taught their place.

 

She did enjoy the coverlet she found folded on her bed the day after she handily stole the Alpha right on the first day with only one punch. The color brightened her temporary barracks very nicely. The box of tea she found wrapped in it was even better.

 

When she defended her claim to the position in the wake of Hodge’s tantrum over being bested by the tiniest Sentinel of the whole lot (and didn’t _that_ tickle her fancy more than she was willing to admit?), she found detailed sketch of a merlin with its wings triumphant resting on her vanity. Clucked in both feet was a ribbon that stretched even further than the small hawk’s wings. Peggy swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat when she realized that the ribbon bore the motto of the Unified Sensitive Council of the British Isles, despite how ridiculously long it was after the four councils joined into one.

 

“With these wings, we rise above our enemies,” she recited. “With our guardians lighting the way, we soar into the future as one people. Under their aegis, we shall not fall.”

 

She can’t help but think about how fitting it all was when Abraham announced over tea that he had made his decision for the first recipient of his new serum, and he intended to tell Phillips his decision during PT the next day. Abraham had made no secret that he was looking for some more than just the instinct to protect the Tribe. She remembered his horror at realizing what he had created the first time. She remembered the filtered horror of Michael’s last hours as well. But Steve Rogers was not like either of those men. He was very much like the merlin, small but fierce, screaming defiance at the world lest it underestimate him.

 

All he needed now was wings.

 

-= LP =-

 

It took a year for the SSR to finally send Captain America to Europe. Of course, it was for a stupid reason, because the brass had no idea what to do with their great creation. Abraham would have been so disappointed. In the brass, that is; he would have been very proud that Steve ran away to actually _do something_ the first opportunity he had.

 

Peggy felt them long before they were finally in sight. The blood bond between the group pulsed with its depth and width. It was an ocean of loyalty, field-tested and battle-hardened, and agitated like a threatening tsunami. She could feel the potentiality as it brushed against her shields.

 

It felt like hope and triumph.

 

It felt like pain and rage.

 

She was moving before Phillips even got to the part where he told her about the court martial he was going to try to push through, despite the differences in their organizations. He was going to be a bit upset when he realized that she had her ass well-covered for all decisions she made on anything she did. A woman had to protect herself when she traveled in a man’s world, as she did a man’s work. Howard and Phillips had their precious project because Abraham had wished it and the USO had a mascot because she had allowed it, up to the point when Steve wanted something else for himself. Phillips would realize the limits of his authority soon enough.

 

Right now, she had more pressing priorities because she would willingly eat Howard’s cooking before she would leave a Sentinel to suffer through what she was feeling echoing through the tentative pack bond she had with Steve. So she did what she always did when there was work to be done, and possible fools who would stand against her: she marched right up to the biggest of them to take care of things.

 

“You’re late,” she greeted, trying to hide the affection she felt for the Sentinel under her unquestionable authority. It clearly didn’t work entirely as the man didn’t looked the least bit cowed. Instead he pulled out the transponder she had given him. A sizable bullet hole explained why he didn’t call a week ago as planned.

 

“I couldn’t call my ride,” he added with half a smile. She held his gaze silently until the smile faded and his chin dipped slightly, conceding authority without the fuss that most Sentinels would have caused. Only then did she let her gaze shift to the Sentinel standing at Steve’s left.

 

The man’s skin was almost as grey as his eyes and looked dangerously close to passing out. She could sense how he was clinging to the ragged edge of his senses with the only adhesive he had, the last shield that any Sentinel had against a fugue. Holding onto a Blessed Protector episode for this long was most likely the cause of the pain she was feeling, because it was definitely coming from this particular man. She kept her eyes locked on him as she addressed Steve.

 

“You have men that need seen to, Captain,” she ordered, “and a colonel to appease.” Steve made a noise in his throat like he was going to protest. Immediately, her hand snapped up in a silent order for silence. Peggy didn’t bother to look in his direction, knowing (even better now that she felt the pair together) that separating these two Sentinels would not be their preference, especially after the march through enemy controlled terrain. She also knew exactly which one was the most dangerous one of the pair, for more reasons than his current state. “No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid. Best to be getting on with it. Unless you wish to question my skills as a Guide, Sentinel Rogers?”

 

“No, ma’am,” Steve quickly agreed. “I leave him under your aegis, Guide Carter.”

 

Peggy put herself in the direct path of Barnes when he made to follow Steve. He would have walked over her, most likely, and have not even noticed. Blessed Protectors were scarily focused on their charges; it was what made the mindset more dangerous than ferality. He only deigned to notice her when the tips of her fingers touched the bare skin above his _visual_ tags. That alone made it clear how far the Sentinel was gone into the mindset.

 

“You’re with me, soldier,” Peggy whispered when Barnes growled at her. Carefully, she pressed against the bond throbbing between the two Sentinels. It bucked under her empathic touch much like the man beneath her physical hand did. He grabbed her wrist with his left hand, making the fine bones grind against each other. She set herself as solidly as a tree, pressing forward with her palm now flat against his chest. She made certain to put steel into her tone this time. “You’re still with me.”

 

“I would like to offer my assistance, Madam Guide,” came a gruff voice from her left. By the feel of the man, he was a Sentinel as well, and just as weary as the rest of returning prisoners. It was soft ripple that gave away his connection to both Steve and Barnes. “Might help the kid to settle to have someone familiar around, ‘specially if you need someone to back up your claim.”

 

Confident that she had Barnes stilled for the time being, she risked a glare at the man speaking beside her. He was shorter than every Sentinel she had ever met beside Steve prior to the serum, and visibly older than most soldiers still in the active duty. His bowler hat was dusty and sat jauntily on his head. At her look, he gave her a crooked grin and spread his hands in a sign of surrender that was more honest than Steve’s had been.

 

“Ain’t challengin’ ya,” he said without a hint of patronization. “The Captain conceded, and after seeing him in action, I’m figuring there must’ve been a reason that I’d like to not experience firsthand. But we probably both know what BP looks like and how nasty it can get. The kid’s never had a problem before, not one whiff, not even when they were carting us up to the labs in batches. But he’s been riding this wave since Cap showed up. I think this is the first he’s been further away than a dozen feet.”

 

“I need to get him isolated to reset his senses. My tent would best.”

 

“Cap knows where it is?”

 

“He’ll find us just fine, soldier,” she stated simply, not caring how a mundane might interpret that claim. Sometimes the chasm loomed threatening in the background and she had to turn away complete or be drowned in the darkness trapped within its depths. She laced her next words with just enough guide-taint to let the words carry farther. “Though if Steve Rogers knows what is good for him, he’ll take the time to get the stink off himself before he shows up at my tent.”

 

“Clever girl,” the Sentinel remarked after a moment, apparently hearing Steve’s acknowledgement of her statement on the other side of the large receiving grounds. Then he offered his wrist in a sloppy version of proper manners. She brushed it perfunctorily, taking only the surface impressions to reduce the risk of losing her psychic hold on Barnes. The flavor of the man burst across her senses like cheap liquor and stale snuff. “Name’s Dugan and I’ve got to say it’s nice to see a decent Guide out here in Hell’s Asshole. Let’s get Sarge back in a hidey hole, shall we?”

 

By the time Steve dared to stick his damp head into her space, she had both Dugan and Barnes settled into sleep. The only difficulty had been Barnes’ refusal to actually lie down, but it was easily solved when she kicked off her shoes to sit next to him to prop him up. Steve nudged Dugan awake and sent him to bathe more fully than her bathing bowl was capable of handling. Then the big lug settled on Barnes’ other side, tucking his nose against the freshly scrubbed neck of the passed-out sniper.

 

As she shifted her shields to muffle Steve’s senses as well as Barnes, she contemplated that she would probably need to get used to calling him ‘James’ or even ‘Bucky’ as Steve did. Peggy doubted anything short of death was capable of separating the two, and it would be difficult to keep the other from following should death catch one. It would offend the mundanes’ sensibilities if they ever figured out that their costumed super soldier had something remarkably close to a mateship bond with another male. Even the Sensitive community would be scandalized, due their mutual status as Sentinels. She had no problem being a shield for them, regardless of what that looked like to the outside world.

 

They were _hers_ now, under _her_ protection.

 

And she was never one to follow stupid rules anyway.

 

-= LP =-

 

The victory, when it finally came, felt as hollow as a bell. It came far too late, for all that it was less than six months after Steve ended Red Skull. In too many ways, Peggy had been expecting the bloody cost of that defeat since Bucky fell. She had known from that very first meeting that the blood bond between the two Sentinels didn’t need to be a true mateship to have similar repercussions. The bond being completely uninfluenced by a Guide’s touch was probably the only thing that kept Steve from being driven dormant by Bucky’s death.

 

Dum-Dum agreed to take care of the remaining Howlies as they stayed in the European theatre to liberate the Eastern border regions. She couldn’t do it anymore. She was tired of fighting the world. At the same time, everyone knew she just needed a breather after losing all but one of the makeshift pack she had built around her during the war. She pretended not to notice the looming Dum-Dum pulled on Howard before letting the inventor take her back to New York.

 

She never expected Howard’s attention to never wander. Mundane or not, the man’s mind buzzed with how much was going on at any given time. There were times when she was certain he forgot that there was a world outside his lab or his parties. If Howard managed not to starve to death or blow himself up accidently, he was probably going to change the world a thousand times over. Other times, Howard would show up when she least expected it, with some shiny new thing to show her.

 

None of that boyish eagerness or rakish swagger could thaw the chunk of ice that now encased her heart. She could barely muster enough emotion to fake civility for those who knew only of her civilian cover. She knew she had garnered attention from the local Center; there has yet to be a tail that managed to stay unobserved for long.

 

Power helped, but not more than skill.

 

So of course, she noticed another British Guide looking for her.

 

He wasn’t the least bit subtle about it.

 

It had been so long since someone felt like home to her, just by the feel of their aura. It drew in her senses just as surely as Abraham had from that dungeon. She could feel something in her reaching back, even as she fought to lock it back in its cage. It was a trap, even if the Guide was not an enemy agent, because feeling that warmth again would only make the winter that much colder when it returned.

 

If there was one thing she was certain of by this point in her life, it was that the winds of winter were always ready to freeze the unwary.

 

Howard had acquired himself a minder apparently—two even, since this Jarvis came with another one, because that’s what good British Guides did when they found their compatible match. She was happy for him, that he could have such a fairy tale ending, and she tried to stay away. Jarvis was a good man and deserved his good life without any of her tangled second life. That he was already trying to keep up with Howard made that just doubly true.

 

It wasn’t until she met Ana that Peggy truly began to understand why Jarvis kept his wife hidden from the local Center and prides, despite being fully mated.

 

The redhaired Guide had no sense of personal boundaries when it came to her. From their very first meeting when Ana had ignored standard protocol to wrap her immediately in a hug, Ana pushed against every boundary Peggy tried to set. If she hadn’t had missions in Hungary during the war, she would have passed it off as simply a cultural difference. Even then the repeated and blunt offers to share Edwin were definitely as normal as two Guides instantly falling into a mateship bond. By simply being her vibrant self, Ana slowly wormed into Peggy’s armored heart, with Edwin following dotingly.

 

It was Ana who insisted Peggy stay after the debacle with Frost had finally been settled.

 

It was Ana who had no problem with pulling Peggy into a hug or a cuddle.

 

It was Ana who pushed when Peggy would have willingly held them both at arms’ length.

 

It was Ana who figured out how to heal a broken mate bond enough to make an honest woman out of her and then cried the most when both Peggy and Edwin agreed.

 

It was Ana.

 

It was always Ana.

 

They were happy, warm and well-fed, everything a Guide could want for contentment.

 

Even Howard had found someone willing to deal with his easily distracted attention mixed with periodic bouts of intense focus. Maria brought her own charm to their group, genuinely charming and wonderfully capable of smoothing the rough edges left behind by Howard’s thoughtlessness. She was the best negotiator SHIELD had to offer, even before factoring in her subtle skill at lacing her guide-gift into her voice. Most of their funding that first decade could be traced back to Maria’s networking. Howard adored her, and it was all natural, no influence whatsoever.

 

All three of them had checked, but none more than Ana.

 

Ana _never_ warmed up to Maria. She was never unkind or unwilling to help more than a housekeeper would normally. She never had a bad thing to say about the woman. Yet Ana never seemed to hold any affection for Howard’s Italian bride. By the way that Maria’s eyes would track the redhead whenever they were in the same room, Peggy knew the feeling had to be mutual.

 

There were times when Peggy and Edwin debated just taking Ana back to England with them, away from whatever made Ana compulsively create accessories for them which doubled as places to hide weapons or as weapons themselves. They couldn’t get the woman to explain what was wrong, odd in itself because Ana tended towards blunt honesty as much as she tended towards pushy affection, but whatever it was clearly had her on edge in her own home. The tension made Edwin hover more over all of them. It made Peggy snappy and impatient, especially with Howard who responded by taking even longer trips out to the Arctic to search for _The Valkyrie_. Their pack was tearing itself apart.

 

Then Tony came along, and everything changed again.

 

Peggy knew that children were a unifying force in any pack. The need to care and protect were too ingrained into a Sensitive to prevent them from making a child their core. Eventually, all packs would seek out at least one child or fall apart. The first orphanages in the world were started by packs taking in the abandoned young of an area. Most foster systems were still run by Sensitives. She knew that a child shouldn’t fix the kind of problems that had been growing between them all.

 

Tony Stark was still exactly what they had needed to keep from imploding.

 

In general, Sensitives have a great many advantages beyond simply their extraordinary senses. It was a common theory that Sensitives were the first mutants, and so successful that nature kept reproducing them. Many of the modern mutations occurred in families that already had Sensitives in their bloodline, or had been altered by experiments designed to recreate or enhance specific traits of Sensitives. For whatever reason, Sensitives in general tended to be stronger, healthier, and smarter than a mundane human. They healed faster and could endure more damage.

 

Abraham had a great many notes on just how unique Steve was, as a Sentinel with significant and chronic dysfunctions, and even more on Howard who wasn’t even a latent Sensitive but displayed similar traits to a Guide. The old man had made no secret of having observed Peggy as well, pointing out the things which everyone had always disapproved of as if they were fascinating instead of disgusting or bothersome. Sometimes, Peggy wondered what the old Guide would have thought of her Jarvises.

 

Tony was just as unique as the rest of their little family.

 

Peggy’s first impression of the boy was nearly as bad as the one Howard made. Everything about Tony _screamed_ his presence to the world. His mind was lightning quick and moved so much faster than even Howard’s, burning instead of merely buzzing. He did everything early and never stopped moving unless he was forced to—by exhaustion, most usually. Tony was into everything, always demanding _more_ information.

 

It was Ana who thought to scan the toddler.

 

It was Ana who dealt with Tony’s tantrum at her psychic touch, and then his sobs against her chest when he realized that he had left bruises on her.

 

It was Ana who told them that the two-year-old they all adored had come online as a Sentinel without any of them noticing, if he had ever been latent, and he showed signs of guide aversion.

 

Howard and herself had exchanged a look, both remembering how difficult it was finding a Guide to work with Bucky after Azzano. There had been a reason the SSR had been made to bend on their women in open combat policy. Peggy had been the only Guide tolerable to all three Sentinels on the Howling Commandos. Maria had simply frowned even as she stayed tightly shielded from the other Guides in the room. Edwin was notably absent from their little conference, and Peggy _knew_ exactly how things were going to be shifting in their pack.

 

Tony’s needs and protection would always be a priority. Edwin was the most necessary of them for that task.

 

It didn’t matter if he broke all the rules just by existing.

 

It wasn’t like Peggy cared about the rules anyway.

 

Changing the world always was a job for heels.

 

-= LP =-

 

Peggy hated winter.

 

She hated how it was always there when her world began to fall apart. She hated how the external cold always matched the jagged cavity inside, leaving her feeling as if she would never be warm again. It was winter which stole Michael. It was snow that hid Bucky away. It was ice that still hid _The Valkyrie_ and her precious Steve.

 

It was winter that claimed her Ana.

 

Peggy hadn’t even been home at the time. SHIELD was a demanding child, which required a great deal of oversight. She had a protégée she was grooming to take up the directorship after her. Unfortunately, it was slower going than she could imagine due to the differences between a Guide and a mundane. Everything she could do innately as a byproduct of instinct, she had to train into the otherwise highly competent agent. More than once she debated skipping over Nick Fury for the man’s own protegee, a Guide by the name of Phil Coulson. She was in a meeting with both operatives and their congressional liaison Alexander Pierce when she felt the first wave of agony.

 

It was a pain she already knew.

 

Coulson was proved his worth as a Guide when he kept her conscious long enough to order Fury to protect the Stark Mansion in New York. Coulson then sent her under while she was distracted by another wave of pain. The sneaky bastard was going to be a hell of an agent once he had worked himself up the ranks properly.

 

She woke up alone, in more ways than one.

 

Of course, her bonds with her pack were all centered on Ana.

 

It was Ana who had been the anchor, the linchpin in Peggy’s scarred bonding places.

 

Without Ana, her beautiful, wonderful Ana, she had lost everything, everything except the gift that had kept her going after Michael’s death so long ago. It hurt so much to be back there again. It hurt to sleep next to Edwin and feel his tea-warmth only the same way a stranger would, instead how she had for so many years.

 

Ana was now an echoing hole in their lives.

 

Peggy waited until after Tony’s next birthday before she conceded that she wasn’t strong enough to keep torturing herself like that. The newly-minted six-year-old didn’t understand why his godmother was moving across the country. He did make her promise to visit as often as she could tear herself away from the beach. The last thing she did was pin the newest SHIELD emblem to his lapel.

 

Edwin frowned at the depressed wings of the merlin which had previously been triumphant. As respectful as ever, he said nothing to stop her from walking away one final time. She slid into the SHIELD car and waited until they had cleared the gate before breaking down into tears finally.

 

It wouldn’t do for Tony to hear, after all.

 

Ana wouldn’t have wanted their little Sentinel distressed over a problem with no solution.

 

She could do this, for Ana.

 

She could do anything for Ana.

 

Even continue living in an endless winter.

 

-= LP =-

 

“Madam Director, I just received confirmation on the identity of the older of our new snowflakes.”

 

Peggy turned away from the monitor displaying the security feed of the guest room currently occupied by the impossibly young Bucky Barnes and the young Guide traveling with him. She didn’t need the confirmation to know that he was Bucky Barnes, even with hardened look of him. Whatever had changed the man did not affect the basic empathic touch of him: he was still the man placed under her aegis after being rescued from a Hydra base by the Sentinel of Liberty.

 

He was still _hers_.

 

“Not only is he a full match for Staff Sergeant James Barnes, SiC of the Howling Commandos under Captain Steve Rogers, but other identifying marks confirm that he is the assassin codenamed _Winter Soldier_. We have twenty-six confirmed kills over the last thirty years and another baker’s dozen of suspected kills. There are suspected aliases that connect him to different organizations under SHIELD investigation. Most of interest is the Red Room project of the former Soviet Union.”

 

The boy had called Bucky that, hadn’t he? He had screamed _winter_ like it was a name, had whispered it like a prayer. He had snarled it as he snapped at her, half feral with the need to defend his territory. She closed her eyes against the familiar ache that the idea of the season always caused in her chest, especially now that winter had claimed not just Howard and Maria, but most recently Edwin as well.

 

“The boy?” she prompted when she felt Coulson brush against her shields. Instantly, he pulled back and continued his report.

 

“He is not registered with any missing persons and there doesn’t seem to be any official record for a child matching his description. The search did turn up a few sightings of him over the years, in the moments before an area erupts in violence. They came up in conjunction with the Winter Soldier intel. There’s no reason to suspect that the boy _caused_ the violence and every reason to believe that attacks were attempts to recapture the Winter Soldier.”

 

There was a beat of silence as she processed the implications of that. ‘ _I stole him,’_ the boy had said. _‘He’s mine, my protector_.’ Then the bottom of her stomach dropped as she remembered what had followed that claim. Despite so many years working in the shadows with some of the darkest elements of mankind, Peggy felt like she was going to be sick from the equivalency the child had drawn between herself and whoever had made her former packmate into the hardened assassin he clearly was now. ‘ _You can’t have him back.’_

 

No wonder the boy had attacked her.

 

“Tell me what you suspect,” she commanded, because she knew that Coulson had them. He had a great deal of initiative and had since Nick had stolen him away from the Rangers. There was a reason that Nick had sent him to oversee her transition to full retirement, after all.

 

“The Unified Sensitive Council of the British Isles registered the bonding of a Sentinel by the name of Lily Evans to a Guide by the name of James Potter in the late spring of 1985. Lily Evans was the youngest child born to Marigold Samuels, a latent Guide, and Henry Evans, a latent Sentinel, who was born in turn to Sentinel Richard Evans, the beta of the Dublin Pride. Richard Evans had a younger sister who immigrated to New York City to be with her American bondmate who was killed by artillery fire shortly before the birth of their first child.” He waited until she had turned to look at him. Something inside her trembled as she tried to ignore the idea growing in her. Coulson’s face and outermost shields were neutral as he spoke the words. “That child was named Steven Grant Rogers, later code-named _Captain America_ , also known by the sobriquet _the Sentinel of Liberty_.”

 

“And our mystery Guide?” she asked, once she could breathe again.

 

“Lily Evans’ previous baseline partner registered her and her bondmate’s death on November 1, 1988. He noted that the pair had produced a potentially latent son on July 31, 1987, but claimed that the exact whereabouts of the child were unknown in the wake of the Potters’ murder. Of interest is a house fire in Surrey, England early in the morning of Boxing Day 1991. All three official residents and a single houseguest were found dead and their identities confirmed by local LEOs. A first responder spoke with a neighbor who believed that the family had custody of their orphaned nephew, but the claim could not be collaborated by other neighbors or examination of what remained of the house contents. One of the identified bodies belonged to Petunia Dursley, _nee_ Evans, older sister to Lily Evans Potter.”

 

“Did you find a name?” Peggy asked, as she turned back to the screen. The boy still refusing to let go of Bucky, even in sleep. The Sentinel didn’t seem any more eager to let him go either. She thought of what diligence it would take to hide the presence of another toddler in a household to the point that no one knew he existed. She thought of how Bucky had called the boy _punk_ like it was a name, how the boy had responded without any hesitancy like it wasn’t an attempt to protect a real identity. What would it take for a four-year-old to not know his own name?

 

“Harry James Potter,” Coulson confirmed. “His last confirmed place of residence was with his parents in a small village in Somerset.” She looked at him sharply at the odd note in his tone. “The address was Number 18 Raven Nook Lane, Godric’s Hollow.”

 

“Three blocks to the east,” Peggy commented evenly. The agent gave a sharp nod.

 

She fidgeted with her pearls, turning back again to the Sentinel keeping watch as he cradled the tiny Guide sleeping in his arms. She felt every single one of her seventy-seven years as she stared at what could have been, if things had gone differently during the war. Steve wouldn’t have abandoned a relation once he knew about them, no matter how distant, especially not one who needed support and protection; he would have certainly razed the world to the ground if necessary to protect Bucky. They wouldn’t stay and she wouldn’t force them to if they didn’t want it. But she couldn’t let them go back into the cold without some kind of protection.

 

Neither of her Jarvises would have either.

 

“If I may, Director Carter,” Coulson stated, carefully formal. “You are still the Director of SHIELD for another sixty-three and a half hours. That is plenty of time to authorize new protocols.”

 

“Have I mentioned that you’re my favorite agent lately?”

 

“Somewhere between the reprimand for excessive hovering and the one for questioning order, but it’s a bit of a haze because of a certain misbehaving Guide showing off his range.”

 

“We’re going to need tea, Agent Coulson, if we’re going to get Protocol Aerie created in time.”

 

There was a boy who needed wings, after all.


End file.
